Neverending
by RFC
Summary: Sometimes things are just meant to be... My first Willow/Spike fic so please R and R.
1. Default Chapter

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Title: Neverending

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Author: RFC

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Category: Willow/Spike

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Rating: PG-13 (or it will be)

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Feedback: My first Willow/Spike fic so pretty please. Tell me what you think. Should I continue with this or what? Please R and R

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Disclaimer: Buffy and co. are the property of numerous people who aren't me. I'm just borrowing them for a little bit – I promise to give them back once I'm done (with minimal damage). No money is being made from this story.

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Author's note: Dream sequences are enclosed in *'s and thoughts are in _italics._

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Spoilers: Set beginning of season two.

Prologue 

*The flames danced as her soul screamed. She was dying. She was leaving him. The scorching heat was something distant, something entirely unconnected to her pain. Through the billowing clouds of smoke she could see him and only him. He stared at her motionless and detached. Those vivid blue eyes that had always seemed to reflect his very soul remained blank as she fought to remain conscious. The chanting continued around them; burn the witch. She strained at her bonds once more. The fumes were choking her. Smoke swirled around her head and her vision blurred with tears. She was too young to die. He looked at her dispassionately. He hated it when she cried. He made as if to go to her. His eyes softened, she thought she saw love there but he turned away. She struggled once more in one last-ditch effort to escape, to survive. She screamed for real. He winced. Her earlier detachment evaporated. Her skirt was catching and the drone of voices continued. Burn the witch, burn the witch, burn the…* 

The petite redhead in the bed sat up with a gasp. Her sweat soaked sheets tangled around her limbs as she looked wildly at her surroundings – she was safe and at home and not tied to stake in the middle of forest somewhere. She was Willow Rosenberg, she attended Sunnydale High school and she wasn't a witch. She didn't think. Not really a witch anyway. A candles and incense (and trying to turn Cordelia Chase into a frog when she was ten) didn't qualify witch-hood, right? 

She wasn't a witch. She wasn't going to die a slow and terrible death. She hoped. Of course, being a non-witch person hadn't stopped anybody from being burnt at the stake in the past. For once Willow cursed her studious streak – if only she hadn't paid quite so much attention in class when they were looking at the Salem Witch Trials. That was the past though. Nobody did that kind of thing anymore. There were electric chairs and lethal injections and… _bad thoughts, bad Willow. _Besides it was just a dream so it didn't matter anyway. Just a dream, that left her shaking and terrified, gee.

All she was actually doing of course was freaking her-self out so Willow untangled her sheets from her body, grabbed her dressing gown and headed downstairs. She walked unsteadily, clinging to the banister as she went. It was almost as if it were _her_ limbs that had been bound and starved of blood. She could all but taste the smoke in her mouth and feel the desperation that she, or the girl in the dream, who had been her, had felt. It wasn't real. It wasn't real – it was after all just a dream. The kitchen lights were on. She always left them on when her parents were away. They usually made her feel that little bit more secure. Tonight, however, she just was freaked, period.

The cool bottled water from the fridge didn't really soothe the painful stinging at the back of her throat because that wasn't really there. It provided a welcome relief. Willow sank down into the nearest kitchen chair and rested her forehead against her palms. A giggle escaped her. She figured she'd have to get used to laughing at herself or she would if she was going to start believing her dreams. 

Dreams were a creation of the subconscious. They were a product of an overactive imagination and the events of the day before or at least they were if you weren't Buffy, Willow's best friend. Her dreams had a disturbing habit of becoming reality and as her dreams tended to be nightmares, this was generally not of the good. As Willow wasn't Buffy (what with being Willow) she didn't think that this would be a problem. Still the whole thing was kind of Hellmouth-y and who was that guy anyway? Willow, or rather Dream-Willow, had loved him. But it was a dream so she hadn't really – she just thought that she had. For an ordinary dream it was pretty weird. Willow was fairly sure that they didn't usually come equipped with a full set of memories as well. 

******

Across town a man tumbled out of bed with a thud. He sat there naked, his sheets having abandoned him sometime during the fall. He shivered. Whether this was a reflexive reaction to the situation in which he found himself or a reaction to the dream that he had just woken up from was anybody's guess. It was a weird dream partly because it felt more like a memory than a dream and partly (and probably more importantly) because he hadn't had a dream in over a hundred and twenty six years. He hadn't really had them before that either – reality had always seemed so much more interesting. 

For somebody who was as old as he was he looked remarkably good, even sprawled on his back in such an awkward position as he was. With fine chiselled features and piercing blues. He was gorgeous and like so many other good-looking men, he knew it. He also looked pretty kick ass. He knew that too – he was after all William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers and master vampire of the clan of Aurelius, thank you very much. This was not somebody who you laughed at for falling out of bed, not unless you were a few sandwiches short of a picnic at any rate. As if on cue, his companion giggled. He growled up at her as she followed his example and rolled off the bed into his arms. Nobody had ever accused his Dru of being entirely sane. She turned so she was facing him and bent down to nip at his neck before claiming his mouth with a passionate kiss. 

"Baby, you're weak," he drawled. She giggled again. After this token protest, he lay back more than willing to participate in this particular sport. He frowned as a face that didn't belong to his princess flashed before his eyes. It was familiar, from his dream that he didn't have because vampires don't dream. _This is just what I bloody need. One nutty vamp in this family is quite e-bloody-nough thank you. _

The vampire shoved the image from his mind before Miss Edith told his Dark Goddess that he was thinking of someone other than her. She pulled him back on to the bed with a comment about getting her pretty nightdress dirty and continued where she left off. He surrendered willingly to her ministrations without another thought to the red hair and soot streaked face of the apparition that had invaded his sleep.


	2. Part 1

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Title: Neverending

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Author: RFC

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Category: Willow/Spike

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Rating: PG-13 

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Feedback: My first Willow/Spike fic so pretty please. Tell me what you think. Should I continue with this or what?

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Disclaimer: Buffy and co. are the property of numerous people who aren't me. I'm just borrowing them for a little bit – I promise to give them back once I'm done (with minimal damage). No money is being made from this story.

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Author's note: Dream sequences are enclosed in *'s and thoughts are in _italics._

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Spoilers: Set beginning of season two.

Part 1

"Will, you okay?"

"Huh?"

"It's just that, yunno, 't's don't usually look like that." Willow looked down at the banner that she had been trying to paint. What had started out as a perfectly ordinary letter had somehow managed to evolve into something strange and interesting while she wasn't looking. She was, at least in theory, helping her friend prepare for parent/teacher night the following evening. 

"Uh yeah, sorry," the redhead smiled apologetically. "I've just got some stuff on my mind is all." She grabbed the white paint and concentrated on correcting her mistake rather than looking at her best friend (praying to whomever might be listening that said best friend didn't push the matter). Although she wasn't lying per se, Willow still felt that familiar deep flush creep up towards her face. That tell-tale sign that all was not well in Willow-land. She did kind of have stuff on her mind, blond, studly male stuff with piercing blue eyes and chiselled cheekbones. The kind of studly male stuff that wouldn't look at her in a million years.

"Are you sure? You seem kind out of it." _So much for God, _thought Willow. 

"I'm, uh, fine, I've been sleeping weird is all. I'm kinda tired." Buffy frowned slightly. Her friend didn't sound fine. She seemed tired and well drained. Not the bouncy, happy Willow that she should have been after drinking all of the mochas that she had that morning. She wasn't even jittery, paranoid Willow, which after the consumption so much caffeine was unusual. She sounded a lot like she was trying to convince herself that she was 'fine' as much as anything. Of course it was probably nothing. Weird sleep patterns and freaky dreams were, after all, slayer territory. 

"So," asked Willow, eager to change the subject, "are we bronzing it tonight?"

"Is it a guy?" Willow groaned inwardly and looked up from the writing that she had been focusing all of her efforts on since the conversation had started. How was it that anyone could know her so well?

"A g..g..guy?" She stuttered. "Why would I…"

"It is a guy isn't it? So is he cute?" Buffy paused. "You didn't meet him online, did you?" Both girls shuddered at Willow's last soiree into Internet dating.

"No guy," replied Willow, almost dejectedly. There really wasn't a guy. Just dreams, lots of dreams. A few every night. Same beautiful guy. No, there was definitely no guy. Only a figment of her imagination that recently seemed to occupy her every thought. 

"Definitely bronzing tonight then. Maybe we can find you one," Buffy teased, smiling broadly before returning to the hoop that Herr Snyder had arranged for this week. It was easy to forget that the teen carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

****** 

Slayers, he killed them. He didn't watch them dance with their friends. The fact that most Slayers didn't actually have friends was beside the point. And yet here he was. Leaning against the bar with a fag in one hand and a Budweiser in the other watching the Slayer dance. He, William the Bloody, Spike, favourite childe of one of the most feared vampires in history, was spending his evening watching a vacuous blond beauty queen socialise with her buddies. Oh, the fun. 

He took a tentative sip of his drink and grimaced. That was one thing he missed about Prague. Best beer in the whole-bloody-world, cheap too. Not that he tended to pay. For anything, ever. 

Necessity brought him to this teen-infested, hormone drenched dump. The blond was checking out his enemy, his opponent. She was small, cute. Pretty, if you liked that sort of thing. He didn't. Of course, if he was honest with himself, he was here to get away from his princess, who was draining at the best of times and there was only so much insanity he could take. If he was _really_ honest with himself so far he had spent more time assessing the Slayers friends than the bitch herself. The chosen ones tended to be all the same anyway. The boy he'd dismissed all of half an hour ago as being inconsequential A 'nobody', a fucking puppy. The girl, on the other hand, intrigued him. She couldn't dance to save herself, which was probably why she'd spent all her time at the table. Her wardrobe was terrible, all pink and fluffy, and yet despite this she was beautiful. An understated beauty that tugged at something so familiar and yet so far away, something deep inside him that he'd long since forgotten and buried. A humanity almost. More than that though, something almost inherent, a memory but not. Something that seemed to predate everything else both demonic and human. Something stronger than both influences combined. He swore and downed the rest of his beer. This wasn't why he was here. This wasn't the time to become his sire and start obsessing over mortal chits. No matter how beautiful or saintly or pure they were. 

"Go get something to eat." He recognised crucifixion-boy in the crowd. Now was the time to move. It didn't take much effort to get the Slayer out the door. Buffy, the boy had called her. _Buffy, what a fucking name. _It wasn't even post-ironic, it was just plain cruel. He followed her outside silently, stopping only to dispose of his cigarette butt in the nearest full cup. 

She was good. But then again he'd expected her to be. Not anybody could off the master and yet she'd done it. She offed the vampire he'd sent out quickly after the boy fetched her a stake. Her technique was non-existent, not unlike himself but that made her powerful, unpredictable, dangerous. Not unlike himself. Of course, you'd have thought the watcher's council would look into more efficient ways of slaying vamps but that was something else entirely and strangely really not something that the blond demon was going to complain about. As the dust settled he emerged from the shadows clapping, it wasn't that impressive but it always did to make an entrance, put them in awe of you, yadda, yadda, yadda. Now was his turn. 

Unwavering green eyes fixed upon him. As if she knew him, knew who he was. There was definitely something there. Even as he turned to leave, duster swirling about his ankles, he felt her. _Fuck_! 

****** 

"You gonna be ok?" The question was asked tentatively. Willow turned from her front door back to her friends, smiled widely and nodded. Buffy and Xander always walked her home first and after what had happened that night this was the only place that she wanted to be. 

Of course, her goofy grin faded instantly as the door swung to behind her. The walk had been dominated by one topic of conversation only. Who was the guy? Buffy was going to talk to Giles in the morning but Willow already knew. Well, half knew. She sank down in the entrance hall, breathing shakily, thankful for the second time that week that her parents were elsewhere. He dream-lover, for he had loved her, was real and a demon and looking to kill her best friend. Only on the Hellmouth…


End file.
